Three Emperors (9780062194138) by Dietrich William

Author:Dietrich, William
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-03-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

White-coated Austrians marched back up the Pratzen Heights to support the Russians. Realizing their mistake too late, the enemy had allowed Napoleon to seize the crown of the hill, and now needed to retrieve it or face disaster. Commander Thiébault ordered our three six-pound field pieces loaded with round shot. Cannonballs are hideously effective when skipped on hard ground, and the frozen earth of Austerlitz was perfect for murder. I watched the solid French shot drill holes in the Austrian lines as neatly as the bore of an auger. The enemy tramped bravely toward us anyway, closing their gaps, but you could see the formations quiver as they were pounded. The Austrians fired too soon, bullets whapping into the dirt in front of us. Then they gave a great shout from the cloud of smoke they’d conjured—“Gott in Himmel!”—and charged like berserkers, emerging from the haze with bayonets leveled. Our front line had been ordered down on one knee, so that my eyes were at the same height as their points. I can’t recommend the perspective.

“Steady!” Hulot cautioned. “Hold your fire. Hold. Hold . . .”

The Austrians were red-faced and open-mouthed, taking precious breath to yell as they sprinted up the slope. Their line grew ragged as some outpaced others, and still Hulot ordered us not to shoot. “Wait . . .”

My God, they looked ten feet tall, shoulders as broad as an ox’s, knuckles white from gripping their empty muskets, eyes crazed.

“Fire!”

A huge crash of shots enveloped us in smoke. Dimly seen, half the enemy seemed to collapse. We reloaded frantically, which is damned awkward while kneeling. A few of our own were overcome by instinct and stood to flee the Austrian charge. One was accidentally shot dead by a companion aiming from the rank behind.

“Fire at will!”

The shooting rattled like a drum. The battlefield was murky with smoke. Austrians fell, the survivors slowed, then stopped, and then seemed to be weaving like drunken men, some wounded and the others unclear what to do. We lit into them, me included, because once you’re in a battle, all you think is to shoot the other fellow before he can shoot you. I tried to aim but had no idea if I hit anyone. It was simply a race of firepower. Bullets sung by my ears and kicked gravel into my face. A supporting regiment was coming up behind the enemy, so the three French cannons went off again, cutting great gory gaps.

“Now—charge!”

We swept through as if they were straw. We’d butchered wounded Russians but made prisoners of the Austrians, who were civilized and worthy of ransom or exchange. We rushed another hundred yards before running into the massed fire of still another unit.

Screams, wet coughs, moans. More French fell around me. They spun, sagged, knelt. Survival was a question of cruel luck. Some looked surprised when shot, some horrified, and some seemed to fall asleep. Hulot’s head snapped on his shoulders, bits of skull flew, and he fell over. I looked anxiously for Gideon.

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